For Who So Firm That Cannot Be

Be Not Afeard; The Isle Is Full Of Noises.

They May Seize On The White Wonder Of Dear Juliet's Hand And Steal Immortal Blessing From Her Lips, Who, Even In Pure And Vestal Modesty, Still Blush, As Thinking Their Own Kisses Sin.

My Hands Are Of Your Color, But I Shame To Wear A Heart So White.

Some Rise By Sin, And Some By Virtue Fall.

Why, What's The Matter, That You Have Such A February Face, So Full Of Frost, Of Storm And Cloudiness?